


Tick Tock Goes the Clock (unless you murder it...)

by wastedonyoursmile



Series: A series of unfortunate events (or thank god that happened) [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little h/c, Alternate Universe - Human, Drinking, I'm starting to question my definition of meet cute, M/M, Meet-Cute, Prompt Fic, idk anymore, softness???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastedonyoursmile/pseuds/wastedonyoursmile
Summary: The beeping. It has begun.





	Tick Tock Goes the Clock (unless you murder it...)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea. This turned out very different than what I set out to write. I kinda like it tho. It's... Gentle, maybe.
> 
> Also the tags are being a shit so, yeah. I did what I could.

The beeping. It has begun. Four fucking am on the dot. Being an actual human being this shit douses Derek in cold water and instantly wakes him up, the bastard below him however… He flips over in bed and watches the minutes go by on his phone. Minutes. Not seconds. Of the most annoying goddamn beeping he's ever heard in his life. There's a crash at 4:05 and the ungodly noise momentarily stops. He doesn't move, just keeps watching his phone clock. It's like a game at this point. The minute clicks over to 4:09 and the beeping begins anew, only louder and more shrill, followed by an automated version of Eddie Izzard screaming something about bees coming.

Derek sighs and sits up in bed. As usual on Fridays, his only day off, he won't be getting to sleep in. He scrunches his toes in the admittedly stiff and questionable carpet before standing and going to get the broom. He wouldn't do it if there was someone above him or beside him, but he's on the top floor and the two apartments on either side of him have been empty for months.

Sighing he begins to bang the handle of the broom on the floor while shouting, “rise and shine and hopefully get a pile of shit thrown in your face!” Not his best, but he had a long night.

“I'm up, fucker! I'm up! Couldn't you sing me sweet nothing one morning?” The guy below him yells and then there's the thumping that Derek has always assumed was the bastard falling out of bed.

They've been doing this for months now ever since the new guy moved in downstairs two months ago. Those close to Derek tend to ask why he hasn't murdered this dude yet, he doesn't usually abide these kinds of situations well. What can he say? He's calmed down in his old age or some shit. He's thirty-two, he can't be starting brawls in his apartment building over an annoying alarm clock. He tries to reason it in his head that nobody wants to get up at assoclock in the morning so this dude must have a good reason. And he's a pretty decent neighbor besides the one early morning.

It is weird, though, Derek thinks, that he's never actually met the guy; not even in passing. 

 

∞∞∞

The next Thursday night rolls around and he's coming home drunk, seriously drunk, the kind that only happens when he tries to drink Erica under the table.

“Why? Why do I still try?” He asks his bolt lock. “I'm not young enough anymore, you know?” His lock says nothing and he sighs and jabs his key in it's eye, “that's what you get for ignoring me.” The lock doesn't undress itself, though, and Derek growls and hits his head against the wood. “No, no, that's not right. It's supposed to twist off or something, not undress, that would be weird.”

The door under his head magically opens and a beautiful rumpled man smiles at him and says, “What's weird is a stranger danger trying to unlock my door by boring it to death.”

“You're pretty,” Derek eloquently slurs.

“Thank you, stranger danger, that's very kind of you. You're pretty, too.” All Derek can think is how warm his smile is and how he wants to curl up in it.

“Am I dead? Are you a demon in the shape of a pretty man with a blanket for a smile come to lure me to hell? I know I'm not good enough for heaven. So, um, do I smell cinnamon rolls?” The pretty smile softens and Derek wants to rub his face against it.

“My dude, how much did you drink? The whole bar?”

“I found a liquor store and I drank it,” Derek smiles and trips over his own feet giggling at himself.

“Oh. Oooh. You're my grumpy angel from upstairs, aren't you?” the man says softly like he's talking to a startled animal, but his smile is blinding.

“You have freckles. I like freckles. And cinnamon rolls. Can I rub cinnamon roll frosting on those freckles and eat them for… I don't know what time it is, sorry.” Derek frowns at his shoes.

“Hey, hey, why don't you come in and have some coffee or just crash on the couch? I actually, amazingly, don't have to be up early today.” 

The man reaches out a hand and places it on Derek's shoulder and tries to pull him in and Derek let's him. Wrapping his arms around soft cotton and warm body.

“Oh. Oh, okay, we're hugging. I can hug.”

“You sure you're not trying to drag me to hell for firing Tim? I didn't want to fire Tim. Peter made me. Tim was nice. I'm not nice. I fire people like Tim. You're soft. And warm. Will you sleep with me?”

“Oh hey, buddy, I think that's moving a little too--”

“Nobody has slept with me in a long time and I just want to be the little spoon for once. I know people say I'm built like a brick shithouse but even shithouses need to cuddle, you know?”

“Hey, yeah, everybody deserves to be held when they need it. Come on. I'm Stiles, by the way,” the guy says as he grabs Derek by the hand and leads him down a hallway.

“Derek. Stiles is a pretty name.”

Stiles stops at the doorway, his mouth just kinda open. “No one. No one in my life has ever said that. Thank you.”

All Derek remembers after that is soft and warm and strong and comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me up at the crack of dawn


End file.
